You are the only one in my audience. A stage like a living room floor rug. Any hotel room with the furniture pushed away. A stage like any staircase I might find. In fact, it must be a staircase.

Find a staircase with me on.

Hiding in black. High heels, sheer hose, a long, buttoned up and well fitted jacket. Turtle neck. Covering this light with darkness because I know I am electric koolaide inside. I have a cigarette and it is smooth between my fingers as I show it to you. I flip it roll it finger it - I capture it with so much genuine attention and focus that it is all you can do to watch me pay attention to the cigarette.

You sit daringly close to a stair and watch so I might continue. You never know what the stimulated encouraged appreciated praised mind might come up with. That's what you do.

So, let's find out...

Could you hand me the candle I earlier lit that now sits on your table? Or were you smiling leaning back against the club wall. You trust this moment will go on forever and you relax into it. I place the candle on the stage below where I stand, flicker light shadow dance up my able legs, as I take my time bending down to touch the end of this smell this fresh cigarette to the flame, we meet somewhere eye to eye, the pathetic cigarette falls from my fingertips for the last time and I can not remember ever having wanted to inhale smoke or anything but to feel good. To open up. To be seen.

To show.

An audience of only one. Both of us wondering the same exact thing;

what might we do with an unlit cigarette?

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